Author: Jonathan Dominguez

Hello everyone!

This has been a long time coming and I’m glad to announce that not only did I kind of sneak out book 2 a little, but my baby, my grand experiment that I have been working on as long as The Time of Tears has also released!

The Time of Tears: Tales of the Nine is a beautiful experiment that I hope will honor the tradition of the short story.

I love short fiction more than I enjoy novels. Confession. I had a friend once who got me into this amazing habit when everyone goes out together, to a bar or restaurant, if everyone is accepting of this, you don’t order one entrée per person.

Oh nay, nay. (R.I.P. John Pinette.)

Everyone orders a sharable appetizer, and everyone gets a little of everything. There is so much food, you will get full, and you get to experience a restaurant in all its glory, instead of just a single entrée.

Plus, order dessert first. Food can reheat. Dessert is a chemical and culinary masterpiece that you almost, always have to experience fresh.

Where was I?

Yes! Short fiction.

It’s like eating an array of meals all at once. You get to sample people and places that get renewed every time you start a new story. Also, *hint, hint* everything mentioned by the writer is important. Every detail, every trope, every arrangement of literary distress. Each letter is composed with implicit precision, because the piece is so small.

It is heavy.

It is compact.

It is powerful.

(Well, I hope it is.)

I hope you all enjoy it. You will. I did. You will. I hope. I hope you will. Promise me you will. (That got weird.)

Next order of business.

I’ve been absent for a moment, we are aware.

I was writing book 4 for everyone and myself.

Cut me some slack.

We all know I won’t apologize for the hiatus because the cultural norm is to do so, but just know I respect you readers. I have said as much in many different posts.

But, this is my blog, and my blog is to help you enjoy a snapshot into my head.

And here comes another.

Me apologizing about not posting for a while makes me feel like I apologize to you guys for saying I’m making macaroni and cheese and a grilled cheese sandwich but stop with just the macaroni and axe the sandwich.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean too.”

The analogy could be far off, but there it is.

End of that order.

Yes, I did watch “Carnival Row” in one day. It was spectacular. You should too.

Now, some commitments.

I will be much more present in my small little following because I cherish each and everyone one of you. I appreciate all the time you all have given me, and with some prodding (from the Viking woman) I will share simple, wonderful thoughts that pop into my rather solitary mind, throughout my day.

I usually call a friend and vent or tell them the funny thing because real connections are what make me continue my day. I can do both so you all can make that genuine connection with me also.

I have shied away from social media because I am a seeker of personal relationships, but I should not (and won’t) discount that medium.

I will accompany those posts with occasional photos because, hell, seeing stuff is exponentially more fun. I like fun.

And, in the end, I do all this for you folks.

(And to keep Haley and Tiarra off my back.)

I hope each and everyone one of you have a great week. I hope you all pick up Tales of the Nine and read a story a day. Let it percolate in your head throughout your workday. Let it transport your mind to fantastical areas of our world that could exist. And remember, there is a crazy author, somewhere in Colorado, (Denver, I live in Denver.) who appreciates the time you give to his life’s work.

Have a great week everyone.

P.S. I almost forgot to explain the title! I was listening to Genesis the entire time I wrote this post! If you don’t know who that is, go stub your toe on the nearest coffee table and queue them up you uncultured millennial! (That was a joke solely for my enjoyment!)

I am not quite sure who to address here.

I would like to talk about fiction, but I’m not sure how many people love hearing about my writing process or my torment therein.

I know I have at least two readers.

Haley is cursed with creating graphics every week that reflect an appropriate, 1-second, encapsulation of what I am trying to produce for… Tiarra.

Yup, reader, number, two, is the other woman who is cursed to make sure you folks can read these. (Granted, they are pretty polished before she gets to them… I’m just saying…)

I am in between writing sections of book four and thought a blog post was important. Hell, even if people jump in one week and off the next, I feel like a little humor or voice in these words would be something someone might enjoy on their lunch break. Or while they shit.

If you read my blogs on the toilet, I have the UPMOST respect for you.

HISTORY TIME!

Roman bathhouses actually had scrolls for when one needed to oblige that familiar call of nature.

In colonial times, (because I’m American and we think we are the only country on the planet sometimes) (I know we aren’t. I love history, and in particular, I am a self-professing-amateur medievalist.) we Americans would wipe our ass with newspaper or other paper like that… and yes, we would read it first.

I don’t know what year, but Verizon conducted a study where they found that NINETY PERCENT of smartphone-using adults read text on their phones while they shit.

DOES ANYONE WIPE THEIR PHONES DOWN AFTER THEY POOP WITH A CLOROX WIPE?!?!

Don’t touch someone else’s phone is all I’m saying. We got bathroom germs crawling over that rubberized cellphone case.

I’m actually laughing at my computer.

I love bathroom humor.

I would call this bathroom dark humor, however.

ANYWAY!

If someone is reading my blog while they shit, I’m happy. I have the best odds for that.

I’m laughing again.

Glancing at the title of this post, you’re probably wondering how I’m going to tie this all up.

I could say that I’m listening to “Whatever It Takes” while I’m writing this. To be honest, that’s my “Rocky Balboa” song I get hyped too before I take my own shit…

Not really. But if you listen to that song with that context, you will laugh your ass off. If you don’t, you’re not human.

I have come to be quite content with the fact that my fiction, my voice, will reach the people it needs too, and that whomever enjoys my fiction is exactly who I want it to excite. I don’t necessarily want a million readers, but I would like a dozen people who wait patiently for each installment of my creations. With those twelve in mind, I sit, and write, and miss out on plenty of things everyone else has time for. But not Stranger Things season 3… Not at all. Or Chernobyl. Craig Mazin for the *explicit* win! (If you haven’t seen that… Go… Now.) (I appreciate my brother-in-law Andre for showing me his beautiful writing.)

So, for those twelve people, I will write.

And I will do whatever it takes so they are happy, reading every piece. Hell, I’m happy writing for them.

Yes, two of those twelve are Tiarra and Haley.

Even though they threaten my life every time they get into the books.

I can’t even tell you how much death I will have from them with the next series.

P.S.- That one is already written and will come out like a damned Haymaker.

Now I want breakfast with my parents and siblings in Arizona…

OKAY! BACK TO… The Time of Tears: The Revolution of the Nine! (<<that’s the title of book 4…)

Have a great week! (Tony the Tiger voice included.)

(That’s in your head now, Huh?)

As I sit here, slowly coalescing with my desk chair and wondering how long it will take for me to physically meld my atoms to the carpet and seat, I am reminded by one truth: I do this because I like it.

Sure, writers want to make money while sitting at home.

Other motivation could be an admiration from the general populous that creates this wonderful sensation of need and importance.

Even the idea of fame, or immortality, is a massive influence.

I could say I torture myself daily because somewhere between today and ten-plus years ago when I started writing, I wanted to share my thoughts with a forever growing base of readers.

Now you, personally, have seen what’s inside my head.

Not pretty, huh?

But regardless, none of the aforementioned factors keep my ass glued in this chair.

You have heard me say I do it for my readers.

True.

I also wouldn’t mind collecting a paycheck from home, while I am being honest here.

But, none of these things quite matters as much as… YOU GUESSED IT!

Yours truly.

I write because the process and ideas involved are where I find fulfillment.

I don’t want to write a series and take a year off or anything like that. If I don’t write for a few weeks at a time, which has happened, my mind becomes clouded.

Jackie will attest as much.

I can’t focus.

I can’t remember anything.

I get irritated easily.

It’s just a big mess where I end up apologizing to everyone for dumb things I do.

So, I write.

It is my catharsis for holding the bad back.

Everyone has a good number of things that has built up in their life and we all do things to cope and deal with the scars. I write.

It just so happens that the things I write about are entertaining. That’s a plus!

So, as I drop this secret in your lap for this week, understand that thirty-one weeks straight of blogging is not to give the dozen or so readers who tune in every week something entertaining, but it is a healing.

Sharing what is inside is hard, but I think we should share how we feel more often than generally practiced.

Within reason… everything in moderation, as it were.

Please, have a fantastic week.

If you have picked up book 2, The Fall of the Nine, I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it.

If you are like my brother in law who bought it, day one, and has finished it and called me last night to ask for book 3… your hunger needs to be reined in. Nonetheless, please, enjoy.

And if you are sitting in the same spot, pulling a Boot-strap Bill Turner from The Pirates of the Caribbean movies (where you literally become your surroundings), I applaud your determination and I will see you on the other side.

Part of the ship, part of the crew!

I am a sympathetic puker.

Staring at the screen, I am wondering why I wrote that, but it will make sense.

If someone around me vomits, I will too. But, it comes from a combination of the senses.

If I smell it, I’m okay.

If I see it, I’m generally fine.

If I catch a scent of it, I can push through.

However, if I catch any of those two at the same time, my eternal empathy rises and makes it our mission to make sure that person who has thrown up their spleen doesn’t feel singled out.

It’s the same with fiction.

You throw up your spleen.

Hopefully, others don’t throw up on your work after they see, smell, and experience it for themselves.

Now, shifting gears.

Yesterday, while I was riding my sportster (I have a 1200c Harley Sportster ’72), I ran out of gas. Luckily, I stalled out next to a family that was pan-handling on the side of the road. They were listening to hip-hop, sitting under umbrellas, and the father of the family of four offered to watch my bike while I hoofed it to a gas station.

Without second-guessing, I said yes.

I asked them if I could pick anything up for them and he answered just some water.

One of my buddies who I work with, and was quite nearby, saved me from the walking part of this story. (If anyone knows me, I hate walking. I do it, and I enjoy it, but I’m a drama queen of sorts.) Once I had gas and two cold water jugs in hand, I was dropped off at the exit where my bike was chilling.

The father ran over, shook my hand, and hurried back to his kids, holding the bottles for his wife and kids exclaiming, “They’re cold, too!”

Him and his family were so happy, and genuine, that it saved me from losing my mind about my motorcycle’s fuel sensor going out and leaving me stranded.

People can either be the worst on the planet, or the best thing we could ever hope for.

Remember this, because I have some good news.

If you actually are pretty bored and have kept chugging along with my blog, through pitfalls and quandaries, then you’ll hear it here hours before our advertisements go live.

Book 2, The Time of Tears: The Fall of the Nine is available to purchase while you wasted time reading my blog! 🙂 No preorder nonsense. No bullshit. Just head over to Amazon, and snatch that bad boy up in whatever format you prefer.

Remember, people are amazing and terrible, our hope and our regression. Please, don’t kill me upon reading the end.

Tiarra and Haley have both threatened to fire me and hire a new writer to finish my series.

But I remain.

So go get the book!

My transmission just went out.

In a beautiful twist of events, I pulled up to our new house with my bookshelves, and my desk chair, welcomed by an eruption of transmission fluid from under my GMC.

Life is good, what can I say.

So, I did what any good writer does in these situations: I poured some whiskey and went to my computer to write before I strapped 25-lb dumbbells to my calves and jumped into the pond by my house. (With my luck, these days, it would be 3-feet deep, anyhow.)

Petrichor.

What a fantastic word.

Raise your hand if you know what that wonderful word means.

DON’T LOOK IT UP YET! (Do what you want, I can’t stop you.)

Yup! You guessed it! It’s the sweet smell of fresh rain on dirt. If you are human, you know how wonderful that scent is.

When I worked for Starbucks, (if ever there was a darker time in my life) (there’s not, even after my truck shit out tranny-fluid) one of my supervisors would ask me every Monday for the word of the week. I would give it to him, and he would write it on our dry-erase board in the back.

Good times.

I am that type of writer. Words are gorgeous little inventions of sound we have created to express the known world.

I love them.

Yup, even the word moist.

M-O-I-S-T…

Mmmmmm.

Who’s cringing right now?

NOT ME. (Get yourself together, please.)

Ready for me to tie all this together? I’m sure you are lost. I have everything under control, trust me.

With one quote from Andy, (yes, from The Office) “I wish there was a way to know you were in the good ol’ days before you actually left them.”

 

Like, before your transmission shit all over the driveway.

Before you had to ruin someone’s life, appeasing your boss yelling about how uncomfortable you and your supervisor made them when they presented metrics for the company.

And before you had to face the reality about being an adult, where everyone wants to bend their fellow man into making sure their own life is comfortable.

So, I’ll fix my damn transmission, and I’ll keep reaching out to my man, (now that I’m free from that verdant siren), and I’ll try my best, making two sandwiches a day and giving one to the first homeless person I see, sitting on the corner.

You can’t bitch about something unless you’re trying yourself.

That was odd and visceral.

I apologize.

Let’s do a quick joke!

A priest, a rabbi, and a pastor walk into a strip club…

I’m joking.

The joke was the joke about telling you a joke.

How “meta” of me.

Okay, I have been healed by the reality that some of you will be exposed to this awful post.

I just hope you are laughing.

At least a smile?\\]

Okay, I’m done.

DEUCES!